Remembering My Sweet Mama One Year Later

Today is the one-year anniversary of the passing of my sweet mama. It feels as though it was just yesterday and at the same time, it seems a lifetime ago. This may sound strange but I still find myself thinking about calling her daily (and often pick up my phone to do just that), like I have done since May 2017 when my dad passed away. 

I absolutely loved our phone conversations, even though they became much more difficult in her last years. For decades, we talked about everything and anything… what was going on in our lives, the weather, the news, OU sports, her grandchildren and eventually her great grandchildren. As Mom’s dementia progressed during the last couple of years, we talked more frequently throughout the day and also about much more mundane things like what she’d had for breakfast, if she was able to turn her tv on that morning and if her aide had come in to give her a shower that day. At the same time, her memory from her early life was something she could easily tap into and she regaled me with so many stories that I’d never heard and now treasure. But that was okay with me. I just loved connecting with her as often as I could and also making sure she felt safe and loved. 

I’d read that with dementia patients, the things that were most pressing early on in life were the very things that became more accentuated as their dementia progressed. For my mama, those things were worry, fear and her undying love for her family. In the last years of her life, she especially worried about our safety and also hers. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like to feel unsafe at home. The number of times I talked her out of calling 911 because she was fearful for her and her neighbors safety were numerous and my heart just broke for her on those evenings. Although I knew she was beautifully cared for and completely safe, I patiently and continually tried to reassure her of that. 

I also grew increasingly aware of how deeply she loved me. When I would first walk into her apartment after traveling to Minnesota to visit her, I would say, “Hi Mama!” and we would give each other huge hugs. Then she would immediately say that she wished I didn’t have to go back home. I would often say, “You know, if I never leave, I can’t come back!” That didn’t necessarily make her feel better but it did lighten the mood and we would chuckle about it. 

I grew to appreciate and love Mom’s caregivers and especially Shelly. She served as her “companion” during the evenings, we spent many hours together in Minnesota with Mom and we talked, texted and shared photos frequently. Shelly is one of the special ones… she has a heart for elderly people living with dementia and she’s passionate about her work. When she and Mom first met, there was an instant connection and Mom grew to not only love, but mostly to trust her. There were so few people in Mom’s life during her last years that she could actually trust, so that made Shelly invaluable and I am eternally grateful for her. 

I especially remember my phone conversation with Shelly on the day we decided to bring in hospice for Mom. She told me that I needed to come to Minnesota ASAP. I booked my flight, boarded my dog, Bella, arrived at the airport, boarded the plane, sat on the tarmac for hours, eventually returned to the gate and disembarked. It wasn’t long after that my flight was cancelled. I went back home reluctantly and re-booked my flight for the next morning but Mom passed away before I made it to Minnesota. 

I remember calling Mom on my way home from the airport that day. Shelly answered the phone and immediately put it up to Mom’s ear so she could hear me. I told her how very much I loved her and also that she should feel free to go and be with Dad. Both my brother, Ken and I agreed that Mom was holding on until I got to Minnesota, and also that she was looking for “permission” to depart this earth. While I frequently feel horrible and beat myself up that I didn’t make it to Minnesota to give my mama that one last hug and mostly, to sit with her and hold her hand during her last hours, I keep reminding myself that I did the best I could do. 

Over the past year I have found myself frequently walking down memory lane. I love that my memories are full of family, love and laughter. In 1989 my dad retired from his career at AT&T and they moved to Norman, OK so that he could pursue his dream of working at OU. He began as the Assistant Dean in the College of Engineering and eventually worked for the Athletic Department as a fundraiser. 

Mom and Dad built a house not only for them, but mostly as a place for their children and grandchildren to gather. I have wonderful memories of summer vacations and Christmas’s spent there with my brothers, their families, my grandparents and my Uncle Don. During the pandemic, my daughter, Emily digitized my VHS tapes from long ago as a gift to me and watching them on Mother’s Day 2020 was so emotional. I loved seeing my family all together and reliving those precious memories. When I moved to New Jersey in 2018, I followed in my parents footsteps and purchased a home explicitly for the purpose of my children and grandchildren gathering together and I’m so grateful that I have seen that play out over the past five years. 

While my relationship with my mama was complicated at times (who doesn’t have a complicated relationship with one or both of their parents?), in the end, I loved my mama as fiercely as she loved me and I’m so very grateful for her unwavering love for and acceptance of me. My hope is that I am passing on that unwavering love and acceptance to my children and grandchildren and that they will always know how fiercely their Mama/Nana loves them. Hug your mama today if you are blessed to still have her in your life.